


What Her Mother Gave Her

by bleumysti



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleumysti/pseuds/bleumysti
Summary: The Ortecho sisters, Maria, and Isobel reflect on the things they've learned and lessons received from their mothers.Part of Day 3 of Ladies of Roswell New Mexico 2020 event. Themes: I'm a daughter, I'm a mother.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	What Her Mother Gave Her

Her earliest memory is one she doesn't share. She's spent years trying to drown it out.

It's the look on her mother's face the first time she sketched something that was a masterpiece for a three-year old. She remembers the way her mother looked past her, swatted her aside with disinterest and resentment.

Helena's face telling more than her words ever did, and she's been chasing away that memory every since.

She got her mother's face. Resting somewhere between alluring and bitchy. A face that was an indictment-- guilty even at her most innocent, she always looked like she was up to no good.

Not even her smiles helped, always coming off conniving and insincere except to those who knew her best which there weren't many.

She also got her mother's demons, the shadows that haunted her, the whispers that invaded her headspace that she couldn't shake.

She got her mother's sadness, but see, she also got her mother's rage.

She doesn't know what and who she would be without it. Without that full capacity to be angry, without the ways it fuels her because without that anger there is no art, without her art, there is no her.

Her capacity for anger can be destructive but it also waylaid to a capacity for love, fiercely, strongly, and passionately.

Her mother gave her things that made her too much. Too sad. Too angry. Too happy.

But on her best days she recognizes the gift within the curse.

She sees her mother's face in a shard of glass in some back alley. The paint fumes are more comforting than her mother's kisses ever were.

She sees her mother's face, her mother's anger and passion, as she takes a break from making something ugly beautiful.

She sees all the things her mother gave her.

\--  
She runs. She runs so far away from her mother that she became her.

She ran so far away that she ran into her.

Her mother gave her a knack for having one foot out the door, and she's been combatting that ever since.

She wears her mother's armor, painted red stain on full lips. She has her mother's lips.

They press kisses with passion and love, dole them out selectively, leave others craving more. Her lips tease, like her mother's do -- a playful smirk, a sexy smile, or pursed so tightly there's no room for interpretation when she's angry, or annoyed, or determined.

She has her mother's determination. She didn't see at first because her mother is fickle. She's flighty, and she used to think that she lacked focus.

She knows now that Helena was focused and determined, just not about motherhood.

She has her mother's tongue. Equal parts sweet and biting with her words. Her tongue is like a sword, tiny slices and nicks until she kills someone. Death by a thousand cuts.

She has her mother's focus. Maybe she doesn't see it until it's far too late.

She wears goggles like her mother wears heels. A lab coat like her mother wears a formfitting dress, but their missions consume them.

She was born with her mother's chaotic spirit.

She loses herself in science, cloaks herself in warped logic, determined to make the world a better place.

She's willing to slip-slide into destruction to do it. She doesn't see it.

She's short-sighted and laser-focused. Her mama gave her that.

\--

Her mother is always teaching her.

She thought the lessons stopped a long time ago, but there was so much more her mother had to share with her.

Her mother isn't done teaching her.

She inherited her mother's dusky skin, thick curls, and the myriad of things that come with them.

She learned to stand in that proudly and unapologetically. All the better in a household that championed individualism, pride, and confidence.

Her mother taught her those.

She feels Mimi's energy surround her whenever she hits a stage. Coral and pink, sees Mimi's face in the recesses of her mind as she wipes down the counter at the Wild Pony.

She has her mother's flair for whimsy but with her own hardened edge.

Her mother raised her to be confident, but she taught herself to be brave. They share strength. In many ways, strength is a birth rite. It's in their blood, the marrow of their bones.

And so are their gifts. She has her mother's abilities, who got them from her mother and grandmother before.

She's still untangling the convoluted mess that is her past, her history, and she's trying to piece everything together.

She used to be so scared.

Of her abilities, in part, but mostly of her own mind.

She thought inheriting her mother's brain was a death sentence, but it may be her biggest super power.

Her mother never played it safe. It cost them both greatly.

But she doesn't play it safe either. She's fearless now. The line between fearless and reckless is razor thin and between both and insanely stupid up for debate.

She knows what she's risking to unlock a mind with abilities that contain multitudes.

She's never felt so alive, so powerful, so in tune with who she is and connected with with her family, her roots, her history.

It's a gift, really. One most take for granted.

Maybe she is fearless like her mom, willing to throw herself full-bodied into the unknown.

She has a thirst for knowledge. She needs to know her limits and what she's capable of doing and being.

She needs to know who she is. But for the first time in years, she has never felt so connected to Mimi and the allure of that is something she can't relinquish.

If there's a way to meet her mother in some dimension or altered state where they're as one, she'll take it.

She knows no one else can understand this, except maybe her mother.

Because she gave her a power than can barely be restrained and a spirit that pushes boundaries.

She's her mother's child.

\--

She was always driven to be perfect. Her mother just happened to demand it too.

It's nurture as much as nature or so she's come to learn. She picked up on her mother's hyper-focus on image, and well, it fell in line with what they needed to do anyway.

Her mother taught her to never have a hair out of place. How to put her best foot forward, particularly clad in some name-brand shoe that others covet.

Her mother taught her how to incite jealousy. People talk; she knows, she's people, so if they're going to be speaking about you at all, it's best to give them no reason to disparage.

She got her mother's knack for event planning. Hours spent orchestrating elaborate ordeals ranging from high class to hoe-down and everything in between.

She got her mother's habit of picking sensible appearing men, for the aesthetic, but in truth, she doesn't know what she likes.

She thinks maybe she got that from her mother too. She loses herself in what she thinks she's supposed to be, some carefully crafted caricature that appeals to the masses, or doesn't, but she's still so unsure if this is her.

Ann has that air of of being unknowable too. Like she's pretty and stylish, and she's whatever she needs to be in a moment, but whoever she is -- she's buried so deep that she can't access it anymore.

She shares her coldness, an ice queen vibe that only thaws on special occasions and in certain company.

Except, she's a mess. She is always just barely keeping herself together, and when someone looks carefully they see the cracks in her exterior.

She has so many cracks. She's so damn imperfect. And while diamonds are by nature flawed, she focuses on the sparkle.

She's a force of nature. Multiple at once, like fire and wind, and just as destructive.  
Ann is a force, and she wanted to be one too.

She sees her mother in the little things, the time she spends applying glossy lips and tucking a strand behind her ear.

She hears her mother in the calculated demands as she micromanages everything.

She feels her mother when she's gripping tightly to whatever handle on control that she has. She needs to be in control, and craves it really, and she's just now discovering what it feels like to let go.

Who gave her such shame? Well, her mother gave her that too.

Saddled her with insecurity she couldn't begin to process. She doesn't know what to do with it all, the constant buzzing that maybe she's not enough, that maybe she's not the perfect daughter her mother signed up for.

She's broken, and her mother is a fixer. She didn't manage to get that from her. It's something her brothers have in spades.

Her mother taught her about femininity and what it's supposed to look like. She taught her about how everything is supposed to look.

But her mom, her mom gave her abilities she's only just scratching the surface of and learning how to contain.

Her mom gave her life and sacrificed her own for hers.

Her mom gave her a lifeline, a tether to the past, to their home, to who and what she is, and she didn't realize how lost she was in this world without it.

Her mom gave her family, more importantly a galaxy of women she didn't know she needed.

Her brothers were always more than enough, but she was always on her own in that way.

Her mom gave her a guideline because she didn't know who the hell she was and maybe she never knew. But now, now she knows she can be her mom's daughter.

Her mom gave her a legacy to carry on, and she can honor that and herself.

Her mom gave her purpose.

\---o---


End file.
